After all, I Legion True, am the evil – intentioned
parent. Almost (but noooot quite all! … of course, Jury!) every American court’s
judge had said so –– and written so –– and ruled so –– through years’ and
years’ worth of his so – sexist , precedent – setting decisions: about this lone woman’s hysterically males’ –
threatening mental state, thus therefore “by extension” then too, her
incapacitating custodial capabilities for my own sons, … these 23! adjudicating
men not bothering to remember! to
mention amongst them all! one blasting, lambasting word, let
alone, any ruling ever at all with regard to the very same thingy on me relative
to … other people’s children!

But that?
That King Herod had, when it so
conveniently suited him, solitarily decided for himself, and his patriarchally
dictatorial witch – hunt went on unabated without ever having to be monitored
or curtailed one whit: that was a fucking given! DaJudge Butcher’s Beknighted Doctor, Herod Edinsmaier, took every
opportunity to tell me so himself as often as he cared to communicate with me
and including as recently as that epistolizing harangue of his just the
previous July 1994 –– literally only moments before! his then
subsequently mailed, befuddling, very next letter arrived … “asking” me if I
wanted to take on … Jesse! Teenaged!
Jesse –– just freshly released from Blue Ridge Hazelnut Psych! Hospital!

First, Legion’s not good enough
to just be even Dr. Chesler’s – characterized, “good – enough” mother. And not just for undertaking her Truemaier
Boys’ primary custodial care but the Pussy isn’t good enough even to have one iota
of contact! –– ever –– with any one of her three male children. Not just in – person visitation can she not
have, the Boys cannot have any verbal contact with her at all. Of not one birthday card ever arriving from
her can Zane, Jesse or Mirzah Truemaier see or know! Not ever!
Decider Herry … decides. He tells
himself.

After all, from that Final Act did not we all, Jury, hear back
from Those Concurring Most High Men that the Crazed Twat, DEhuman Legion True,
the Bitch Who Should Be Gutted, also required for said whore cleansing – gutting,
to complete a planned program of “mental therapy” –– both designed by! and
signed off on by! all of daJudges’ – appointed Knight himself, … King Herod?!

So you can imagine my further befuddlement when, upon
Herry’s being asked about Jesse’s RAGBRAI proposal, Daddee Herry had one of his
own on the tip of his tongue with which to fire right back at me.

But by way of through
Jesse, of course, though. Regal Herod
Edinsmaier did not deign to talk to me
on the telephone; that would have been so imperially wrong of the Entry – Level
Monarch: to have lowered himself by
speaking directly to The Pain in his wee
royal ass. Actually, the calculated make
– the – pussy – invisible, shunning – of – the – cunt technique which Herry had
so well – polished at our family’s kitchen table on Othello Drive and
throughout all of the years of mawwiage before that specific starter – castle
in Ames, Commander Edinsmaier routinely continued to practice in front of, and
therefore, to instruct the Truemaier Boys in its mastery from the first moment
he chose to strut out of his bachelor pad’s brown front door. “Always
the teacher, huh, Herry?!” I am thinking.
“Just like you always used to say about yourself?!”

How presumptuous.
My teenagers are so thoroughly schooled on just exactly how to eschew anything resembling respect and honor
of us DEhumans of any age or station.

“Ya’ mean for school, too? No, you just mean for the summer, right,
Herry?” Jesse conformed, too, just like
both of his brothers always, always obeyed as well. Complied with the King’s dictum and only
addressed his biological male parent –– ever
–– by the man’s first name and never by
any parenting – like title. Never. Since infancy with any one of the three Boys’
first vocalizing “dah – dah”s, the Great and Wonderful Doctor Herod Edinsmaier
had –– instantly –– dissed any sort
of that parental commission’s identification.
It was crystal clear now as to why the Slacker had done so! Someone responding to the call of another
claiming him to be ‘Daddy’, to be ‘Father’, to be his ‘Dad’? Even ‘Pa’ or ‘Pop’? Well, that respondent would …, well, he would have … to parent … then, wouldn’t
he?! Work! The man could not get away with just acting
like a 17 – year – old, older brother all of the time, let alone, as a
frolicking, jolly Joy Toy Boy! And now
that not only Zane was even older than Herry’s desired age of arrested
development but also the other two Boys were almost there to Herry’s exact, day
– to – day behavioral status as well … Mirzah and Jesse each nearly 17 years
old themselves … why, the palsey – walsey, laissez – faire nature of Lazy
Adolescent Herry and the Boys’ interrelating most definitely needed to be
maintained.

I could not actually hear the words of Herod
Edinsmaier in the telephone receiver, of course; but I knew! Parenting for him? It so sucked!
The Slacker had had all of ‘it’ that he could stand. Plus he sooooo had not at all learned ––
apparently –– about the dark and stormy night of maternal doctoring borne on
the shoulders of Rufus’ and Jesse’s otherparents of just a few months
earlier. The money Herry stood to lose from
me by Mirzah’s leaving him, too? Not
nearly as much, if any, as compared
to that former amount once upon a long time ago after Act One concluded! After
all, Zane was 18 already! Jesse had been
talking to Mirzah about how great things in Ames still were; it had not taken
Mirzah long at all to want to change his own address away from Grubtrop’s and back
to his previous Havencourt one with Jesse and his mother.

What
I feared throughout all of this ecstasy, and with great reason to be alarmed,
is Thuggish Herry’s bait – ‘nd – switch, give, give … – and – then – yank – ‘em
– like – hell control … juuuust when The Bitch is getting used to things
lovely! Like having at least two of her
Boys back living with her! History is
such a
fine educator that way –– extremely more excellent and a far more superior one
than Always – a – Teacher Edinsmaier ever
was alongside Cleveland’s Edwina inside their actual middle – school classrooms
there. History had proven so, so correct
my ability to predict Gutting Herry’s future behavior –– and, most especially
true, when anything went a bit awry. Anything at all. And it was soooo about to! Even if Dr.
Herod Edinsmaier desired to stop dawdling around at the work of daddee – ing –– as some time ago Attorney Jazzy Jinx had quite
wisely counseled me about him … and as the Good and Wonderful Doctor’s former Supervisor
Shark and the White Firm’s lawyers for the Downshim Laboratories had denounced
and condemned this derelict man due to Slacker Herry’s utter absence of … any
genre of recognizable, not to mention accountable, sustainable
and, O say, sustained! work
ethic.

My fear is infinitesimal compared to that which
MaryBeth Longdottir, Jesse’s and my neighbor directly across our street,
underwent and herself lives through there to this very day. It was a weekday, I don’t remember which one,
but it must have been later on into the afternoon because other folks were home
from work, too. And heard her. Just a few days before Mirzah’s arrival back
here, the most bloodcurdling scream pierced the dusky air at twilight and
ripped all the way up and down Havencourt Drive. MaryBeth, now prostrate, writhing and
shrieking on the little strip of grass outside her front door, had been
struggling through and was suffering right in the midst of quite the same
throes as my fate –– that is, that of the loss of the custody of her four boys
over to a pillared, millionaire businessman (and that daddee’s next cunt, too, of
course) three Iowa counties’ drive away during just about the very same
divorcing time frame as my own. Jesse
and I prepared several dishes, one a platter full, foil – covered, of piping
hot corn – on – the – cob, one certain to, at the least only, physically
sustain MaryBeth’s three other preteen and teenaged boys since they were bound
to be enroute on their way over to Ames to try to bolster and hold up their
mama. MaryBeth’s eldest, Zane’s exact
age and from way back during my Boys’ Kate Mitchell Elementary classrooms
together, had just been killed in a car crash in Paris, France, while
holidaying there –– on his graduation present … that trip to Europe.

* *
* *

Mirzah
did come. I don’t recall how –– not by
bus and not by airplane, I am thinking, so it may have been by way of one of
Herry’s many, many mooching roadtrips out from West Virginia to sponge off of
his Midwest relatives, also an imposing behavior of his which old acquaintances
and central Iowans who knew him (‘member Jury, Abby and Devin and their two
little girls?) had experienced firsthand from Herod Edinsmaier multiple times
in the past. Freeloader Herry had been rather
infamous for some time in regard to … his blatantly massive buggery of aprovechar
– taking.

It seems to me that the only way a person, to himself or to herself, could get away with this conduct over and over and for
such a long, long time would have to be by simple self – justification; ya’
know –– denial. Denial to yourself of
who you truly are.

But not in the case of the superior Dr. Herod
Edinsmaier.

Even though the justification to himself –– of why
so much taking is mightily A – okay –– is the same as anyone else’s who has
countenanced themselves in this narcissistic fashion year after adult year,
that is by the self – centered egoism of, “My presence in your space is thanks
enough from me! If I deign to grace you
with My Self, then that is my gratefulness to you aplenty,
Cunt!” Then Aprovechar – Herry would simply
proceed to take: food, lodging, another’s labors and preparations,
fawning over, booze, O JYeah … lots and lots of others’ hooch back in the day
when I’m – Entitled – to – Drive – Drunk Herod Edinsmaier still drank –– and,
most especially, Vulvae – Sniffing Herry took for himself from any and all vulvae
– harboring hostesses what he considers his kingly right of enslaving – DEhuman
ownership, “DO for me, Pussy. I AM The Exalted One. Now you DO for ME. Got that, Twat?”

So … Herry knew! Corrupt Herry always knew that he was taking; it was never a matter of his having
to deny to himself his greed, his arrogance
and that sicko sense of daMan’s total entitlement. Dr. Herod Edinsmaier merely and quite
consciously made it His Choice to take ––
without
reciprocal remuneration, without so much as the work of any thinking even given over to any reciprocity forthcoming from him –– just any ol’ friggin’ time that it pleased him to do
so.

No matter how wonderful for children Ames is ––
including and, most especially, for
teenagers –– and no matter how much Mirzah and Jesse wanted to be together
again, Mirzah’s coming to live with me,
Legion True, would not have happened anywhere unless Herry hadn’t, first, found in its occurrence something in it
for himself. After all, this, remember,
is the same guy who along with
Shyster Shindy Scheisser’s ‘legal aid’ less than just three to four years
earlier, had taken it upon themselves to try to vengefully fling and flail –– as well as to quite handsomely profit monetarily
from flapping –– Herry’s side of the story out there to Hollywood in the form
of that made – to – TV film which Violent, Violating, Passive Aggressor Herry
had wanted to sell. Jesse had actually seen,
as you know Jury, the tentative contract with the television company and its
producers, “ … for $100,000 plus 5% I saw, Ma,” Jesse had related to me. “What’s the ‘5 percent’ part mean, Mom?”

Zane
had seen it, too, the movie’s draft contract, “ … where you’re gonna be made
out to be … ah, um, ya’
know, to look like ‘the murderer’ in it, Ma.
In the movie it’s gonna be you, Mama, who’ll be seen as … as
… the bad guy, ya’ know.”

“But
you stopped it, didn’t ya’, Mama? It
didn’t happen cuz of you, right? You
wouldn’t sign with the film guys. You wouldn’t
even speak to ‘em, would ya’, Ma?” Jesse had been fishing from me –– as my
knuckles gripped the wee white rental’s steering wheel back inside that 1993
April afternoon of the clandestine Montclank park to where Jesse and I had
driven off –– to be safe while we talked.
To be away from any central West Virginia public who might get a notion
that this concrete truck – driving Sam – ‘man’ … with Jesse … just didn’t quite act ‘right’ after all –– like a manly
man, like a true fatherly dude. That he
was, instead, a she trying to
disguise herself into looking like the teenaged kiddo’s daddy!

I
hearkened back to the lesson, the one made more emphatic and memorable for me
by his air – thumping gesturing during it, the lesson from my attorney of the
Opera’s Act One, Mr. Jazzy Jinx, who had felt compelled to leave it with
me: In his experience by then of 20
years’ practicing general law including family matters, he had never –– not one time –– seen a father press for
custody of children who had actually truly
wanted … to parent them. Daddee wanted legal custody for three reasons
only, none of which reasons had been for exactly that –– that long, long effort of disciplining and sustained … woooork!

Mostly daddee wanted (the nightmarish battling
fights over) custody because of the vengeance of it all that his then having all control overher children afforded to him against the bitch. Secondly, Mr. Jinx divulged, had been because
of the money –– of course, the child support bucks. That third reason, though, was a bit more
elusive. Daddee wanted the children in
order to somehow flee the work of it all:
to get someone else in there, such as a barely fuckable and cuntly Ms. Fannie
Issicran McLive, to do the routine, continual daily work of engagedly true parenting which that mean ol’ battleaxe – ex
of his, the kiddos’ actual mama, had seemed to have to keep after him, their father,
to do when they were married –– and that he
soooo was not about to even start thinking on doing … after … the two of them had gotten divorced!

“Fathers,”
Mr. Jinx was certain in his tone, “just want to look good in front of the kids
and the folks at work and around town.
Dad also wants to look good to the other people in his family who think that
he should ‘want’ his kids. But but but,” Mr. Jinx carefully pounded an invisible
wall with his right palm and fingers
fully extended with each ‘but’, “believe me, I’ve seen it a long, long time ––
and it never changes. He wants her to
suffer –– sure; that is why he
initially goes after custody, but he also doesn’t want the work
of it –– ever!So that’s why, if the judge
ends up giving him custody, why, that’s why he marries! Right away!
Or at least he gets himself coupled with somebody else, a surrogate mommy,
a proxy … And right away.
Trust me!”

In this specific divorcing father’s case then, the
summer of 1995, and Jesse’s and Mirzah’s both
coming back to me in Ames provided for Herry Edinsmaier –– finally
in that former and flamboyant Family – Deconstruction Project of Herry’s more –
or – less hatched to fruition back here in his house – of – cards’ bachelor pad
on Ames’ Othello Drive –– his very own …
Escape From Accountability! Cuz quite apparent by now, it was evidentiarily and testimonially a total certainty that the particular
next ‘official’ Mrs. Herod Edinsmaier, Ninny Fannie Issicran McLive –– as the
King – Daddee’s nanny –– was not at all turning out to be what
she had initially cracked herself all up to be at succeeding in … the actual – work
– of – parenting – His Majesty’s –
descendents’ department!

There
had been then, right off, with Ninnie Nannie Fannie that grand and old, old
patriarchal mawwiage thingy of “one flesh” wherein she, the woman of said mawwiage,
stands as not a thing more really than a collection of additional organs of his, of the husband’s! Of daMan’s!
And since Ms Fannie Issicran McLive’s functioning in such a union within
the masquerade of a separate human – like structure for the purposes of
procreation was soooo not needed, then her operating as a home – and – hearth
keeper along with her handling of other incidentals such as the keeping aaaaaway
of the Ex Pussy –– way away from King Herod as well as altogether away from his
West Virginian Territory –– why, His Added Organs had performed at all of these
matters quite dismally, quite diss – functionally! Utterly abysmally! Subsequently, King Herod, as such the
prescribed owner of the “one flesh” and, thus, of her … had had for himself a
most disturbed pattern to trying to live his androcentric adult life … as He, The Human Being, wished!

Thus: “ … the
something in it for himself” finally became most clear: The Last Fleshy, Organismic Mother – Fuck,
Legion, can sooo be kept waaaay away along with that added, major bonus of the
Slacker’s ‘sorta’ workload reality even more than halved! if … if …. if Mirzah
and Jesse are simply sent away back –– to
her!

Mirzah smiled a lot and read as much, too, up in his
very own, old room. About two weeks into
his late May arrival, Mirzah came to me with what had been Jesse’s recent
request as well: Mirzah, not then yet
until late September to turn 16, wanted a job for something else to do and to
earn money as well, of course. And
before we both knew it, that very next week my boss came to me asking if I knew
of any high schoolers who might want to do odd jobs for the Economics
Department, a sort of Kid Friday – type of deal. Carrying parcels, delivering items across
campus, anything from one envelope to several packages’ worth, filing, copying,
bulk mailings, that sort of thing; she or he didn’t even need to be old enough
to drive. “Kinda late to be lookin, I
know,” she had apologized, “Most everyone’s got a job for the summer by
now. But if you hear of someone, let me
know, would ya’ please?”

Equipped
with a map plus legend of the Campus, Mirzah set out upon his first delivery
assignment ––

a
way, too, to smell the freshness of the day besides learning the setup of much
of the physicality of Iowa State University, one of the most gorgeous university
campuses nationwide. Repeatedly a prize –
charmer with its vast lawn expanses, flowerbed gardens and stately Ivory Tower
architecture –– actually, winning in academies’ landscaping contests for that
very beautification category from time to time.
When Mirzah came to my workstation to announce his success, I recalled
being a high school teen in Ames –– as well as accomplishing all three years of
my junior high time here before that one sophomore year. Seventh, eighth and ninth grades of my public
education had all been entirely spent just one block south of this specific University
campus! It was wild to be an adolescent
with all of these college – like matters around one all of the time; we all
thought that we were such hot shit –– to exist so closely to so much grownup
stuff going on. I had loved school every
day because of that part of it
particularly. Slut – Slamming and –
Shaming Mehitable, you can imagine Jury, so loathed that I –– physically ––
dwelled in such proximity to it all! And
most regularly humiliated and harangued on me, then in my early teenage years …
the same age as Mirzah now was, about this very fact, too.

A
first paycheck is something else for an adolescent –– especially when it comes
to her or him from folks not their mom or dad or aunt or uncle or from any
family member nor for labors done for a relative’s company, business or
agenda. A rite of passage it certainly
is, yes; but I find it to be much more than that: it is a statement of approval. Of validation. “You work,” it says. Of course, it means, “Sure, you worked;
therefore, you get paid.” But that
paycheck represents more than that: more
like, “You work out. We
think you work out for this
department, this company, this job. You
work out in the exact endeavor and in the precise manner that we’d hoped that you
would! This is why we hired you so … so here’s a fair
day’s pay for a fair day’s work,” these earnings state. AmTaham would agree with me; rather, from him I probably learned to believe
this axiom, I am thinking! And so Mirzah
succeeded day after day –– enough so as to receive that very first paycheck ––
ever! And then subsequently, through
multiple two – week pay periods thereafter –– to secure for himself this summer
of 1995, … several more of the same!

A formal business curriculum and a financier’s practice,
principles and the discipline of investing possibly existed for Mirzah in his
future. Now? Now I just loved to see him smile and to hear
his voice; every day at his job Mirzah came to my job! Breathing down and
exhaling out finally began occurring deep within my chest –– in the whole of my
carcass truly –– in such a “formerly normal” fashion that I barely recognized
just how relaxed I was becoming!

Along
with his working and reading and lounging around our itty bitty condo complex
swimming pool –– again –– with new friends from the hood and those old ones from
his previous Kate Mitchell Elementary School days, Mirzah three times weekly
took off on CyRide, Ames’ public transportation system –– also an award –
winning busing service! or by way of my chauffeuring him there –– for Tae Kwon
Do and found himself the youngest participant in the University – sponsored
martial arts class for around its 30th year instructed by Master
Pak, a world – renowned guru of the discipline.
I was again astonished both at Mirzah’s initiative and at the
opportunity afforded him, a mere 15 – year – old, by such programs of this
University’s community. I so enjoyed
watching this instruction and even received advances from Master Pak as to my joining Mirzah in class. I did not. I did not, and still do not, feel worthy
enough. I do not believe Mirzah missed
one session of workouts and practice–– ever; he embraced this cultivation
wholly. And before I knew it Mirzah
contested for –– his yellow belt!

Then one day in early July in to that raven –
colored mailbox of ours on Havencourt Drive, it arrived, too: the letter containing a waiver of
accountability signed by Mateo’s mother, yet another health care provider / mama. She also stated that accompanying Mateo at
the Des Moines International Airport would also be all of a week’s worth of
biking gear and the date and time of when Jesse and I could go there to pick
him up! As our neighborhood’s resident
expert on bicycling, Mr. Web Will, had assented to watch over the two of them
on their lovely seven – day RAGBRAI adventure together, I was thrilled for
Jesse’s quest, too! Tortured a lot, I must say actually … because of Daddee Edinsmaier
and what he would try to do to me … if something along the way of this upcoming week did
not quite go … the Wonderful Doctor’s Way –– but so, so heartened and enthused for Jesse.

So … loaded
down in the wagon portion of Ol’ Black, off we three sped then, probably at the
earliest hour ever for Jesse and me on a Sunday morning, –– in order to arrive
two hours’ driving time away on federal Highway #30 at Onawa, the westernmost
point on RAGBRAI’s itinerary across Iowa, by … its 6 a.m. sendoff time. Mirzah, new as he was to this weekday,
working – stiff undertaking, stayed in bed!
I briefly spoke with Web, then patted Mateo’s shoulder and kissed and
hugged Jesse. With the ceremonial back – tire dip into the Missouri River
waters then, all of the cyclists –– more than 8,000 of them in total –– were,
indeed, off! Including its Saggy
Thursday, like horseflies on a stable’s sticky paper, when riders dropped out
in droves because of the worst 79 – mile stretch of hills, 95 – degree heat and
35 mile – per – hour headwinds into Sigourney from Tama – Toledo, neither Jesse
nor Mateo broke during any of that summer’s annual RAGBRAI –– its 23rd
… beginning, as it had, on the 23rd of July! Without so much as a broken limb or even
broken skin such as from a fall off the saddle had they; only one, lone flat
tire sustained between the two of them –– along all 493 miles of that
particular RAGBRAI’S entire route!
Through eastern Iowa’s refreshing Coralville then and finally finishing
in Muscatine, one of Iowa’s oldest riverbank towns, Ol’ Black and I were there,
3½ hours’ driving time east of Ames, having arrived around 2 p.m.
on Saturday, the 29th, awaiting the dynamic duo’s ending and their traditional,
ritual dip of the bikes’ front tires
into the trickling puddle that is the Mississippi River! With exhalation heaves, grins, high – fives and
backslaps all around! What a deal for
Jesse and his friend! Even today I am
stunned by their fantastic feat.

Dog
days exist as the essence of Augusts in Iowa almost always, and 1995’s was
assuredly the rule and no exception.
Thank goodness for the air conditioning at Mirzah’s and my jobs at the
Econ Department because we certainly so did not have it running at home on
Havencourt! Jesse struggled in front of
his steamy dishwasher at the Red Lobster only to enter nearly the same thing,
the horrendous humidity of Storm County, any
time that his specific shift ended its day’s or evening’s stretch and he
exited the restaurant’s building! Three
weeks into this month of August in Ames school begins, so a parent has about
that much time left to prepare all such enrollment matters. Again, I telephoned the Front Office up at
Ames High to make sure we were all ready for Mirzah’s entry into his sophomore
year there! He was not!

Along around 13 years old and, almost always by age
14, a person residing in almost all of the United States is required by
secondary school policy and such administrations to have received a second
measles, mumps, rubella immunization, the last needed MMR for one’s supposed
lifetime protection against these three viruses. Mirzah’s daddee, the Good and Wonderful Doctor,
had been derelict in this medical duty of his and had failed in this particular
parental matter regarding Mirzah’s health.
And, of course as well, so had for the three Truemaier Boys altogether King
Herod’s ‘Step’ping Nowhere Adequately – Ninny Nanny!

Perhaps
West Virginia is one of the Union’s few states without strict policy; Iowa is
not. One way or the other, it does not
matter to me about West Virginian law.
As a mama and as a microbiologist, this dereliction is
unconscionable.

Furthermore,
as a person whose own mother had progressed through a pregnancy wherein she had
simultaneously contracted and suffered through the actual disease of the German
measles –– rubella –– and
then given birth to a bambina entirely absent the sense of hearing in her left
ear because of the virally induced agenesis of its eighth cranial nerve, a
person whom Mehitable named Legion, I was livid upon ‘hearing’ (in my one good,
right ear!) that my Boy, Mirzah, was himself because of Doctor Daddee Herry, because
of his negligence and his laziness and his failings and … because of his utter Fear of Real Work, … that Mirzah was,
indeed as of yet, unprotected.

I could not help Eldest Son Zane prepare as he
entered his first year of college at the University of Missouri in
Columbia. In fact, he was already there;
but, of course, I had no address, no telephone number, only a guess as to his
chosen curriculum or major, no knowledge at all as to any dormitory or whether
or not Zane was, initially at least, to stay with friends of Herry’s. Herry, always the most accomplished sycophant
wherever it financially benefited him, was not at all above trading my Children’s
college costs for lots and lots of appropriate sniveling and demonstrative fawning
whenever that would work to save him money or effort. And there in Columbia existed that one
pontificating bloviator on whom Daddee Herry regularly practiced his particular
art of leech – like parasitism, that witness from the Opera’s Act One, the
arrogantly asinine pomposity who had flopped himself, soooo importantly like,
all over the courtroom’s testifying stand –– wrapping his warped self around it
throughout his “evidentiary testimony” –– as if his presence, and his alone,
was all that mattered to the judge’s determinations, was all that mattered in
meting out Constitutional “justice” –– in this divorce’s decree.

So it was entirely possible that Zane, for that
matter, was all set to reside with Dr. Freddie Goldstein, yet another
pathologic pathologist and the one under whom Slacker Herry had finally finished this specialty’s
residency. About Dr. Snobbie Goldstein’s
own family which included his wife, Ella, and their three children? Those four persons were of no consequence to
User Herry; daMan needn’t concern himself with extra bootlicking nor any brown – nosing on these folks’
accounts. Aprovechar – Taker Edinsmaier
certainly did not need to even ask them for their opinions on any matter related
to his future filching functions. Such
as Zane’s possibly living with all of them … indefinitely.

* *
* *

I could do
something, however, about the remainder of Youngest Son Mirzah’s high school
experience. Immediately I made an
appointment for the 22nd of August, with Mirzah’s former
pediatrician’s office to have done for him that very vaccination pronto: the MMR.
School –– Mirzah’s sophomore year at Ames High –– could commence then …
unobstructed. As the two of us inside
the beater – wagon turned the Teacup’s corner onto Havencourt Drive along
around 4 that Tuesday afternoon and after just concluding less than an hour
earlier this so simple chore over to the Clinic, Mirzah and I smiled about the
ease of this particular visit to the doctor –– in contrast to those of tiny
children when they have to periodically go in for their shots. Almost simultaneously, we together spotted in
the distance sitting alongside the curb of 6143, our condominium, something looming there about which
I had such the ominous and threatening flashback: a Ryder rental truck.

Ol’
Black crept closer and closer to our driveway, and the smile vanished from my
mouth. I cast a jerked and frightened
gawk at Mirzah who exclaimed as he leaned forward toward the dashboard, “It’s
Herry!”

“Om’god! A
truck just like when he first took you all away, Mirzah!” Immediately thrown
right back into hypervigilance mode, I remembered out loud that horrible
Saturday morning of the 13th day of October almost five years
previously! “What’s he doing here?! What’s he doing here with a truck, for chris’sake!?”

“I called him.”

“You called him?!”

“Wull, yeah.
But. Um.”

“You
called him an’, and … an’ right away out he comes?! But why?!” I was stunned. “What’s he gonna do?! He’s got a truck, for chris’sake! What does that mean, Mirzah?!”

“Well, ah, I … I, um, I think it means I’m going
back to West Virginia, Mom.”

I was
sick! Literally … sick. Nauseated and throat – choked, my breathing
ceased again! Sure enough. “In and out in about an hour,” just like that
television commercial beckons a viewer to go get himself fixed up with a pair
of new eyeglasses of that hawking store’s particular brands.

“In
and out in about an hour,” my whole life was stolen from me … yet once
AGAIN! By now –– Daddee – Herry’s so
infamous bait – and – switch gutting of the Bitch’s whole essence. And of at least two of those three Truemaier
Boys’ beings, of course, as well. Yet
once AGAIN!

As
much as my remembering that so twisted whirlwind of those 60 – some minutes’
worth of both of these Truemaier
Boys’ last moments beside me there on Havencourt Drive, I recall Herod
Edinsmaier’s … signature snide smirkface. The Good and Wonderful Doctor – Daddee was on
… The Take again! From specifically me
–– on the prowl and on His Take … AGAIN!
Taking back –– from me, the Kiddos’ mama –– both Mirzah and Jesse! “SONS, YOU HAVE NO MOTHER! MOTHER, YOU HAVE NO SONS!I say
so! Therefore, Pussy, it is
so!”

As with very many a hating and violent man, I am
thinking now as I type, Jury, that if joy
ever comes to this guy from anywhere or from anything, –– ever, truly –– then its emergence for him must almost always be
tied to: how great is the pain and the
grief and the sorrow –– how great is the vengeance
–– that Dr. Herod Edinsmaier can manage to reign in and to rain down upon
Legion True. What an insecure man! Dry –
Drunk and Addict Herry’s happiness depends,
daily, upon taking –––– upon his taking away … mine.

Pretty much the exact same assessment of and
sentiment expressed about Herry –– precisely as a father –– by Iowa Court
of Appeals Appellate Judge Pansy Shawshank –––– within her six – page majoritydecision!
… … ah, er, that is, inside the one which, of course, became … because of sexism
and chicanery by that court’s Chiefy Donnellson plus a couple other of his
specific judiciary’s hench –– ah, er, um, … bench – men … the woman’s dissent,
instead! She, naturally its one and only token DEhuman
jurist, so saw Hardhearted Herry for who he was, too –– and she did so in far
less time and scope than most other folks who come into Dr. Edinsmaier’s sphere
have had at their disposals in order “to measure” him. Him … daMan.
A destroyer doctor. “First, do no harm?” As so decrees the very first dictum to which
all health care providers pledge themselves?
This one also an alleged daddee, granted the M.D. degree in March of
1980, when Mirzah Truemaier was but a wee six months of age and Brother Jesse a
19 – month – old, is not an honorable and healing lifter – up of humankind but,
instead,
an insecure, ruthless –– and measurable –– rot who denies, ruptures and
annihilates.

I had already forgotten about the disagreement
Mirzah and I had had sometime during the previous week. And, now, I cannot even remember the cause at
that time of my vexation with my so soon – to – be sophomore Son nor the scrape
in which the two of us must have earlier engaged. I am said to have been so ireful at whatever
it was that Mirzah did or said or wanted or decided on his own that I locked
him out of the condominium declaring as I did so the directive, “My house. My rules.”
I don’t believe the squabble could have been focused on something Mirzah
said and certainly nothing that he did to
people whom he considers his friends and acquaintances. He is just too sweet – natured a human being,
then and now, to have purposefully and calculatingly with nefarious motive,
hurt any one of his contemporaries intentionally.

With
his gonzo mind and his snide mouth and Corrupt Herry’s dastardly deeds against
women, I suddenly remembered about, as Ol’ Black inched into the condo’s
driveway, those two DEhumans whom Dr. Herod Edinsmaier had not even cared
enough about to have bothered himself to get out of bed in time to show up for
the women’s breast biopsies as their frozen – section pathologist whom he had
been hired by Kansas City’s Downshim Laboratories to be! With Herry’s bestial (literally, –– Jury,
remember the cows – / dogs – / pigs – / chickens – / and cunt models – fucking)
view of womankind –– that same contaminating contagion which he had inherited
from Detanimod’s Grand – Dominating Poker – Patriarch Juggern Aut Misein
Edinsmaier and the one which both That Old Mother – Fucker and the sooooo, so
christianizingly DEhuman – fucking Martin Luther King, Jr. held about aaaall of us females, –– why, Daddee
Herry had easily, readily –– and
happily–– passed woman –
loathing and his concerted DEhumanization
of well over half of the World’s populations anywhere on … to all of the
sons. And, most especially, Model Parent
Edinsmaier, relying upon for his “excuse” to do so the
Truemaier Boys’ and his most entitled of “cultural” speech freedoms,
could voluminously secure as he so desired to procure for his own addicted
neediness then, more and more and more pornography, “Stupid – Ass Heifer, now
doncha’ be a – messin’ with my and m’boys’ First Amendment Right, You Whore!”

Exactly
the very escape from accountability –– this paternal – filial pornography –
‘sharing’ camaraderie is –– as the alcoholic father who purposefully places himself in situations in order to be able to
drink with his kiddo. And jokingly but
yet loudly terms it to them and to all the World as … “bonding” –– instead of as
the addiction it actually is! “How can
ya’ come between a man and his dad when they’re just out enjoyin’ a coupla’
brews together at the ballpark, Bitch?”
Pops gets what he wants, doesn’t he, Jury? More and more and more booze. And the adult child? Why, the kid also gets what Bucko – Pappy –– and
Attorney Jazzy Jinx some time back had counseled that Slacker – Slick Daddee ––
always wants: Father as the
picture – perfect “parent who just likes to have some fun, ya’ know. To show ‘his good, good
buddy’ a mighty fine time, that’s all!”
But it –– the sham –– is soooo not
all –– at all, is it, Jury?

The
one child likely most influenced by the twisted yet so commonly “accepted”
recesses of Dr. Herod Edinsmaier’s deviance was the one child actually with his mama the least amount of time
–– Mirzah. If
the quarrel had been about print pornography or videotape pornography run and
viewed upon my condominium’s VCR machine or if I had come across other formats
of woman –– loathing, then I certainly can see where I would have acted on the
“my house / my rules” declaration. I had
explained –– repeatedly and try to do so to this day –– how the production and
consumption of pornography by any person is
the purposeful and intentional harm and destruction and loathing of female
human beings –– 53
percent of and, therefore, the majority of the entire Earth. A
DEhumanization with proportions not equaled by any other matterin the whole wide World; but I was with
Mirzah, and, therefore, to date his maternally parental influencer, … the least
amount within his lifetime.

And Herry?
Herry, as husband and as ex – spouse, has plied his addiction and purposefully involved his minor children
with it in quite the silenced and secretive way that that alcoholic daddee
carries on with his hooch, “The more my sons drink with me, the more I can,
too!” Whether that juicing jag takes
place at home or in bars, in cars or during a day at the beach. Anywhere.
“The more my kids use porn and think it fun, humorous and entertainment,
then the more of it my braingets
to have?! Well, that’s just A – okay,
too! After all, we’re bonding! Me an’
m’boys! Father and son –– we’re buds! Jus’ engagin’ in a … ‘bonding’ … activity
together, for chris’sake, Twat!”

When
those 12 issues of Playboy had,
regular as the moon’s cycles, crept into his Othello Drive bachelor – pad starter castle under the subscription Daddee
– Herry had corrected for nine – year – old Zane Truemaier’s ordering of it
and all four of its household’s males had retired together to King Herod’s den
with any one of the particular, newly arrived issues of it … “to check on the
Boys’ development,” Mirzah and Mirzah’s brain had been only six years old. When the separation and divorce was pending
and Addicted Herry, right straightaway, ‘chose’
Ms. Fannie Issicran McLive with whom to start keeping company, it was Mirzah,
barely seven and eight years of age, whom Herry took with him when he went to
buy for her a gem – studded condom and a “hormones are raging” greeting
card. All three Truemaier Boys were
present during a mandatory visitation (Of course! Of course, these sojourning soirées were
androcentrically and sperm – exaltingly … daddee – mandatory!) with
Herry when Daddee Dearest, smirkingly I am sure, told Ms. McLive a three ducks’
anuses’ joke inside a booth at a Fatlantic café –– that
particular tarriance of the Wooing and Courting King Herod’s having been the
Boys’ –– any of my three Truemaier
Boys’ –– very first time meeting The Other Snide Person who in such short order
was to become their … so, so unwilling to
– step – back– from and to – step – out – of – the – Real – Mama –
position’s step – mother.

And
through the years, there had been more.
So much, much more. The Boys had
been inundated when they were still in and then, even more frequently, just
passed the primary grades and going, going, going, … then finally altogether … gone from me. Gone –– Zane, Jesse and Mirzah –– from me,
their mama.

All
crimes, of course. Every instance a
crime. All of it criminal and
perpetrated by one abusing, violent and violating man, their own biological
father, that Great and Wonderful Healer, Dr. Herod Edinsmaier.

With
Mirzah always then the youngest –– both in terms of the Daddee Herry –
“approved” and – facilitated exposure to and use of pornography and of a
child’s perception with regard to the whole and utterly complete disappearance
so fashioned and brought about by that same father of the kiddo’s own mother ––
there came into existence then the altogether determined wiping – out, the
absolute erasure and deletion of a so inconveniently protecting mama who would
have tried, had she physically been around, to
put a stop to Daddee – Herry’s (and, generationally, to Juggern Aut Misein
Edinsmaier’s) insidious inculcation and passing on of woman – hating to her children, all of them happening to
be, of course, in Dr. Legion True’s case, … male children. That is, the World’s women’s worth of at
least three of its very next generation of marrying and / or fathering and / or
ancestoring … men.

Right
in line soooo Catholic Edinsmaier’s christianizing of my three Sons is ––
exactly as had been the schooling of Ms. Soraya Manutchehri’s two eldest boys
(out of her nine – born children in 14 years’ time … rather precise shades, not
so Jury? Anyone? of Juggern Aut’s perpetual poking of Detanimod … ) by
the woman’s sharia “law” – spewing Sperm Donor, Ghorban – Ali Manutchehri. Wanting to mawwy another much, much younger
DEhuman, a teenaged schoolgirl actually, and to support only one wife, Mr.
Manutchehri, the mama’s two oldest sons and her very own father –– in full and
hooting view of the entire town and right alongside all of those ‘educated’
males of ‘The Court’ which had just condemned Ms.
Soraya, falsely accused of infidelity but such for that specific daddee … The Inconvenient Wife so by its islamic
“law” on “these matters” so, so easily manmade now “no longer a
human being” –– “freely” set about murdering her, this suddenly made Non Human, by hurling stones aimed in 1986,
right at and striking
her head, throat and thorax until this battered, eviscerated and unrecognizable
corpse of a cur –– “That Bitch!” ––
she, the mother, altogether stopped breathing.
Gutted. Made gone … she. In and out with ‘The Court’ ’s ruling on the woman in about a
dusty and bloodied hour’s time –– is all.

In an’ out –– literally, –– in and
altogether out of life –– inabout an hour!

‘Member,
Jury, how it is that Dr. Herod Edinsmaier had, as well, wanted quite dead ...
Dr. Legion True? Only difference? Offing the True Twat himself –– in this
christianizingly patriarchal country –– may have cost him his doctoring
position and, thus, his money. So Daddee
– Herry –– as have as well so many, many spousal daddees including Ghorban –
Ali – Daddee –– simply “used” the most willing men of ‘The
Court’ … ‘alone’ … to kill her
off. Apparently … “quite constitutional”
–– and within aaaaall of their very, very manmade / “We tell ourselves thus and so
–– cuz we, DaMen, sooooo can” ‘laws,’ too!

It
would be no wonderment to me at all that a clash which the now nearly 16 – year
– old Mirzah and

I
evidently had had … may have centered around something woman – loathing such as
pornography. Mirzah had plenty of
friends, of course, as agreeable, as kind and as amiable as he always, always
appeared to me to be with other guys his own age. But it was also true that for almost seven
preteen and adolescent years’ worth I had not a physical clue –– I hadn’t been
(allowed !!! to be) around him since he was nine! –– about his dealings, about
Mirzah’s … comings, goings, thinkings and doings … with that same age group of
girls. And I do recall, with both Jesse
and Mirzah back in Ames and Jesse’s so recent threat of alcohol toxicity,
having laid down some parameters about the perimeter of 6143 Havencourt, one of
which –– for a factI
know, –– would have been that no pornography of any kind exist on
those premises for any reason nor possessed under its roof by anybody.

That
summer of 1995, in Ames the Truemaier Boys and I certainly had had no home
computer and, therefore, no easy internet access. The passageway, that is, to web – based
pornography. It was not until the next
February’s Leap Day as I cleaned out the Havencourt condominium in my
preparations for altogether leaving behind our Teacup subdivision that I came
across, wedged down behind what had been Mirzah’s mattress, a computer –
produced ‘business card’ done up on cardstock – quality paper and sized appropriately
to any general ones which I have ever seen.
On white in simple, black – inked font were the words, “Your Friendly
Neighborhood Ho Service. Dial 666 – 5678
for a really, really good time. ––– Signed, Mirzah and Matt, Pimps.
Confidentiality GUARANTEED.”

By 5
o’clock that hot and humid August afternoon, Mirzah and Jesse –– again
… viciously made no longer Iowans –– vanished.

The
yellow truck pulled away; and with its doing so, I remember most … Herry’s
smirkface. I also know that
the pillared Dr. Edinsmaier took away with him more, however, ––
that aprovechar of his again! –– … more
that late afternoon than my two
Truemaier Boys.

As I
had scurried around the condominium, to its three bedrooms upstairs and down to
the basement, rounding up every bit of clothing and equipment and treasures I
guessed –– in my concurrent and profound sorrow! –– that the two Boys would want with them when back in West
Virginia, my one – vehicle garage went … … ‘unguarded.’

And,
a couple of days later, when I needed that pliers? The one in the vessel resting upon Mirzah’s
wooden changing dais painted bronze with its so easy – to – clean Formica
tabletop, the sturdiest ever with baby supplies’ drawers built in underneath,
the table which AmTaham True had, just 16 years earlier, constructed from
leftover scraps of remodeling materials when he first learned I had become
pregnant for the third time and Mirzah’s Grandpa had not wanted his Legion’s backbone
to ache anymore from my repeatedly
crouching down on the floor multiple times a day to change his grandbambino’s
diapers!

Well, my pliers?
All of my tools had gone missing, too suddenly, as
suddenly and at exactly when as had
Jesse and Mirzah! Including the
galvanized metal, standard – sized toolbox in which Grandpa AmTaham had
collected them all for me, the general genre of receptacle which any
respectable repairperson owns!

* *
* *

This
man was not done with that particular day’s worth of taking. Still. Of Herry Edinsmaier’s taking away from
Legion True. With my
Boys’ taking and with my tools’ taking, the man
still had more –– much, much more of aprovechar
–– on His Agenda to accomplish.

Here
I had been left thinking that the Good and Wonderful Healer had swung my two
Boys right out onto Interstate – 35 and was spiriting them out of Iowa as fast
as that Ryder could possibly sprint, the entrance to that freeway merely a half
a mile from the one to our Havencourt Drive!
But I was wrong on this assumption!

Dr.
Herod Edinsmaier, Mirzah and Jesse Truemaier –– my Boys –– and his
Ryder took a wide, wide detour –––– one so wide its width matched that of my
mouth’s gaping. And of both Grace’s and
Lynda’s, too!

What bulk, what mass of unmitigated effrontery,
insolent entitlement and flippant, filliping arrogance the entire bunkum of Dr.
Herod Edinsmaier is –– especially when
it comes to us … DEhumans. Lynda Kincaid
lived approximately five miles from me on Havencourt –– through some of the
most tangled web of streets and tortuous thoroughfares Ames possesses,
particularly … at rush hour. It was to her home’s INTERIOR that Corrupt
Herry Edinsmaier’s entitlement and arrogance –– his taking –– next appeared.
And it did so … right away within that very same hour as when he had
pilfered way away from me … both my two Kiddos and all of my
several tools.

“I
can’t believe it,” I gasped. “You have
to be kidding, Woman. Are you sure,
Lynda?!”

I am
still incredulous as I am thinking on it right now. All –– absolutely all –– of my girlfriends
remain so to this day … as well. It was
a stunning performance by Herod Edinsmaier.
Positively utterly staggering.

We ––
my friends and I –– we were never “used” to his taking, to Pillared Father’s
Rightster Herry’s snatching up of my Boys whenever and wherever the time and
the venue seemed to suit him; but we women, at the least, knew that So
Predictable Herod Edinsmaier was entirely capable of this androcentric egregiousness,
this patriarchal cruelty. We just never
expected, although so very well – trained all of us should have been by now! we
just never expected Exalted Sperm Donor Edinsmaier’s next fucking
flagrancy. Let alone, so very, very
mother – fuckingly soon! Within this
very same –– “in – ‘nd – out – in – about– an” –– hour! that “Fuck
you, Bitches” – hour!

“O,
JYeah, Legion, I am sure!” Lynda
Kincaid exploded. “They’re gone. They’re all gone. The guns.
They are gone from the basement, Legion.
Every last one of ‘em. Outta
there! All of them! Taken.”

Months
later, Jesse himself confirmed this home – invasion crime for all of us
women: That Herry had actually driven up
and out of his own gettin’ – outta – the – Gutted – Bitch’s – town route is one
thing in and of itself. But Dr. Herod
Edinsmaier had done so … for forbidden guns that he did not even own. –– And
never had!

As
soon as Absconder Edinsmaier pulled his rented transport, UNconstitutionally
yet domineeringly –– and criminally –– loaded up
both with Legion True’s two younger Boys and all of Legion’s garaged toolbox’s
contents, out of my driveway and back on to Havencourt’s street headed, I had
so incorrectly presumed, immediately on out to the interstate’s entrance quite
proximally nearby and bound, yet again, through those same
five states on back to Grubtrop, West Virginia, I had telephoned Lynda at her
National Animal Disease Center desk. She
had been the first friend to know –– to know of daMan’s same – style abduction
… yet
again! And … yet
again! … of another of Legion’s ripping heartbreaks. Lynda left work to come to my side
straightaway and, after cups of late – afternoon, hot sage tea and as much head
– banging truisms together about our passions and our struggles as could be
emotionally borne, had driven not back to work since it was now eventide but directly
on over to her own home on Douglas Avenue.

I had
not asked her to –– to do so; Friend Lynda Kincaid had thought all on her own
to check. She told me on her commute on
over to her street, a revelation had come in to her brain, “This is Herod Edinsmaier
Legion’s dealing with. Of course, he
just might do this. He just might! I’d better check the shelves downstairs. Just in case.”

My
telephone rang not more than 20 minutes after Lynda had exited my condominium’s
front door.

These
were all of the guns given over to Jesse after
… after
… the divorce and, more importantly,
given over to him by his Grandpa AmTaham but … but … but with one huge
caveat: Given over from Grandpa AmTaham
to Jesse by way of me, … first. That is to say, Jesse’s grandfather had made
crystal clear to Jesse that his mother’s rules ruled … first! First and foremost. “Only when Legion says you may, can you have
any access for any reason, for hunting or for target practice that is, at all,
Jesse! You must obey your mother on this,
Jesse. Verstehen? Verstehen, Young Man? I mean it.
Do you understand me, Jesse?”

AmTaham
True, as a matter of fact for years before this date of 22 August 1995, and
when quite the Cinqué – of – the – Amistad style Ancestor – in – Training, that is, when the man was alive, and for years before Jesse’s freshest –
ever 17th year (since his latest 15 August birthday had just passed)
had tried and tried and tried to have all three Boys understand that the ownership and the use of any gun was
far, far unlike the ownership and the use of any other item which the Boys
would ever, ever possess.

Grandpa
AmTaham had instructed all three Boys that at no time in their teen
years’ development of

“a
relationship” between themselves and their firearms were any of the guns and /
or their ammunitions to be
brought out of safekeeping and handled by, or even just shown to, anyone
else. As one may a new volleyball or a
new bicycle or how it is a kiddo gifted with a used, let alone a new, vehicle
might take her or his friends for a spin in it, for that matter. Developing an adult mindset circa the
ownership and the use of firearms, AmTaham True taught, was akin to the
learning of no other lesson. And all –– absolutely
all–– of one’s minor years when she or he is still a
teenager are to be determinedly spent up in the maturation of this relationship
between the person and the owned firearm.
By the time the person becomes 18 years of age, a parent or a grandparent –– and no other adult, that is –– needs to
have instilled in this child enough then:
enough protecting wisdom on this firearms’ ownership matter. AmTaham had stated, as had Dr. Powell during
the several hunter safety session hours which Jesse and Zane had both
enthusiastically, and some time ago by then, attended in Storm County, that the
properly licensed parents and grandparents held entire and utter accountability
in this endeavor because at no time did any other
adult in the kiddos’ lives –––– not their Uncle Mark, not Daddee’s Pal Kevin
home on his university’s semester break, not High School Voc Ag or Shop Teacher
Dick, –––– actually care about the muzzles’ locations and the
emptied or filled status of the guns’ chambers … as much as … does
the children’s own –– properly licensed –– parents
or grandparents.

* *
* *

“And
now … most importantly, … Jury, for the FLIP / REVERSEclincher
on this specific Tuesday’s events: What
woman do you know, Folks, can get clean, slick away with entering in to, home
invasion – style … thus, with the criminality of it all,
her ex – husband’s friend’s home –––– and abscond with daMan’s owned property, with all of his guns there for
example, being stored inside his pal’s
premises?

Huh,
Jury? Name one woman for me, please, ––
anywhere in the Whole World –– who can get away –– clean, slick away –– with this act?
One woman who can, in addition, TAKE
with her inside this

ex – husband’s friend’s home … her very own
daughter, too?! Take the teenaged
daughter criminally inside the residence, too, to serve as mama’s accomplice
and as mother’s carrier – of – Daddee’s – guns back out to the truck parked
outside?! With this mother – modeled
‘Fuck you, Bastards’ action of Mama’s and have back on herself for
her having done these several crimes absolutely NO consequence
whatsoever, Jury?! Name one woman
anywhere who can do these very same deeds as Herry Edinsmaier’s, please. One.”

Because
that
is what Narcissist and Passive – Aggressor Herod Edinsmaier who “is above the
law because he tells his pillared self –– and my three Truemaier Boys
–– that they all are!” … did! And then,
and by now well in to the 21st Century, daMan is known to have
gotten his modeling self and my Boy Jesse –– with my Boy Mirzah serving as
lookout sentry inside the truck’s cab … clean, slick away with it. Ex –
Husband Herry took, aprovechar – style and criminally, whilst
demonstrating for both of my teenaged sons then, how it is that men, just
whenever and wherever they wanna, … can … simply take
from women. From multiple women. “Because He Can.”

We all know this, do we not, Jury? Because he can. “These are mere women, conscious these two
happen to be and not anesthetized,” Corrupt Herry reckoned, “but females, none
the less. How utterly UNimportant …
DEhumans are! And to her Boys, Jesse and
Mirzah, as well! I will demonstrate
these very same thinkings and doings, these comings and goings about women to
them, too! And absolutely looooove doing
so!”

Noooo
different. The very same this is as …
the two, elder boys who ‘helped’ their daddee, Ghorban –

Ali
Manutchehri, murder stoned – to – death Soraya, their very own –– and siblings’
–– birthing mama. Not a human being …
she; their laws so state, the laws the men themselves “make” –– particularly as
any of these, on the whole of them all, pertain in any way to us DEhumans’
general slutlery. Remember, Jury, that
so common Arab maxim regarding the insatiability of graves, deserts and, of
course, all … cunts? The
males? The men and the boys? They
are … The Human Beings. And … The Only Human Beings.

Just
exactly how UNimportant is … specifically
… the one DEhuman, Dr. True? Whose first
name, Legion, is never to be Edinsmaier – uttered?! –– Ever?!

Consider
–– yet
again! –– that I had admonished us all, hadn’t I Jury, from deeeeep
within Chapter 28, to be
certain to so nota bene the following phraseology out of Herry – Daddee’s 02
July 1994, quite queer letter – thingy mailed to me?! That grammatically incorrect missive,
displaying its stupendously stupid sentence structure, which had been sent to
me, the woman whom all of DaMen of ‘the Court’, an American court –– it needs
to be marked, remarked and so, so … well
– remembered, an American court!–– had ascribed as the Crazed and Whoring Mother –––– yet, as well, to whom
Herry – Daddee, that flouncing and professedly accountable father!, suddenly
and right then so very, very soon
after Jesse’s release from hospitalization at the Blue Hazelnut Ridge, had
decided to entrust to lovingly and correctly shepherd one minor teen, Jesse,
with as well in such a short, short
span of time thereafter another, second one, Mirzah?!

“#8. Should … any matter arise … which we
cannot settle under the terms of this agreement, … we both agree … to
immediately return to the present arrangement as set forth by the existing
divorce decree with modifications,” yada, yada, yada and so forth.” Signed, “Sincerely, Herod Edinsmaier”
…

Only
it is most clear, isn’t it Jury, that i) from Mirzah’s one wee, apparently
whining telephone call back to Daddee – Herry when the Evil – Mother Monster
quite torqued him off some –– “she pissed off daMan” (as
with Ms. Soraya’s sons, Mirzah equaling this particular male this particular
time) and ii) from Jesse’s desiring for himself Legion True’s guns back in West
Virginian woods, it is most clear, isn’t it, that none –– utterly
none–– of Proviso #8 had to its “declaration” any “sincerity” or
any Truth … WHATSOEVER?!

Because it did not have to.
Whether inside a courtroom with daMen’s status as “under oath” there or
with their promising or their avowing –– or even with their “evidence” – and
witness – wowing there! True it is. O, so head – bangingly true it is: Depending upon who you are, it is easier
to lie to and deceive anyone inside an American civil court of law and get
clean, slick away with itthan
it is to lie to and deceive one’s own mom and dad. It is easier to lie to and deceive an
American civil court of law, which, we all know from long back within Chapter
Eight, is a judge or nearly an entire state’s district and appellate court
system’s worth of them! –– circa 23 or so of them! than it is to lie to and
deceive your own minister, your own teacher, your boss and co – workers, your
spouse or even all three of your own children.
It is, mind you, easier to get clean, slick away with lying to and
deceiving an American civil court judge about anything, depending, of course, upon
who you are, than it is to lie to and deceive yourself, Corrupt Herry!

Or
outside of one. Outside courtrooms. As with Liar Herry’s mid – 1994 letter to me
regarding “our both agreeing” if “any matter arises.” “Heh. Heh. Heh, Woman!” I am yet
again! reminding my own brainy self. “These are men making ‘the rules’, the
‘laws.’ And no amount of, no accounting
of Flip / Reverse as to how these
same men would feel or as to how the humans would like the trashing and the
smashing, the utter mucking up of their Constitutional rights to, O say, …
breathing … if the DEhumans’ mother –
fucking –– if, O say, father – fucking –– is visited down upon
them … matters … squat at all to
them!”

“I ask, Jury, only one thing about the aprovechar –
absconsion of my Boys and of my tools and guns, about this home – invasion
crime, on all of this one particular day’s worth of mother – fucking –––– all
of it perped by Hosing Herry, the Pillared Dr. Herod Edinsmaier, against Lynda
Kincaid and against me, Dr. Legion True, as well as against all three of my Truemaier Boys, … … the
fucking outrage?! Where is the OUTRAGE?!”

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About Me

! My thoughts are as free as wind o'er the ocean,
No one can see their form or their motion.
No hunter can find them, no trap ever bind them.
MY LIPS may be STILL, ... ... BUT ... I THINK WHAT I WILL ! ( as, and in the manner, of Alsatian pacifists, World War II )
! The whole body of SCIENCE is PROOF against all gods from all religions !
"The most important attribute for 'a real scientist' is: to actually .understand. some science." -- Dr Brian Cox